


He Got a TV Eye On Me

by seikaitsukimizu



Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Stealth Crossover, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, I was chatting with my contact over at KW--you know, the Warner Brothers-Paramount merged channel? I was talking to my contact, and she mentioned looking for a scriptwriter for a this new dramedy...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Got a TV Eye On Me

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted 3/28/08 on LJ.](http://seikaitsukimizu.livejournal.com/149976.html)

Though Rodney used his phone as an alarm clock, it was never set before nine. Squinting at the bedside table, he contemplated the odds that he could ignore the annoying Battlestar Galactica ringtone, but everyone he knew wouldn’t dare call at the ungodly hour of seven am unless it were an emergency. Struggling, his hand flopped onto the table and dragged the phone back. He took a moment to confirm the time before flipping open the infernal device. “I know how to blow up your car,” he mumbled. He should probably lift his head from the sheets, he realized belatedly.

_“McKay, have I got a job for you-”_

Rodney hung up pushed his face into the pillow. It was way too early to deal with Lorne and his eternal enthusiasm. A second later the phone began its musical cry again. Rodney tried to ignore it, but Lorne was stubborn, and Rodney had shown the man how to override voicemail years ago; something he’d regretted ever since. After four minutes of struggling to get back to sleep, Rodney opened the phone again. “I will blow up your car.” 

_“I’m due a new car anyways, doc. So, I was chatting with my contact over at KW--you know, the Warner Brothers-Paramount merged channel?”_

“Just because I haven’t had my coffee-”

_“Just making sure. So anyways, I was talking to my contact, and she mentioned looking for a scriptwriter for a this new dramedy--that’s-”_

Rodney let out a rough sigh through his nose and wondered if he could smother himself by mashing his face into the bedspread. It was too damned early for this. 

_“…anyways, we got to talking and I mentioned_ A Cat’s Breakfast _and your latest work and, well, they want you.”_

Rodney blinked slowly. _“A Cat’s Breakfast.”_

_“Yup! She found a copy and the producers loved it.”_

“Did you happen to remind them that I wrote that almost twenty years ago?! I’m an author now!”

_“And you write commercials, all of which they loved. They said it’s just the kind of sarcastic humor they’re looking for.”_

“Did you not hear the ‘author’ part of that? I don’t write scripts anymore!”

_“It’ll help get you some recognition. Besides, it’s a steady paycheck, and the chance to flex your creative muscles. Haven’t you been complaining about writer’s block? This’ll be just the thing.”_

Rodney growled inarticulately and seriously considered blowing up Lorne‘s house. It‘s not like the world would mourn the loss of a talent agent. Especially in Los Angeles. “Never call me again.” He tossed the phone, still open, across the room.

_“Great! I’ll let them know you’ll be in on Tuesday for storyboarding. Try not to be late.”_

Yes, he was definitely going to kill Lorne. After he got a few more hours of sleep. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

~*()*~

John hadn’t really expected to get the part. He was approaching forty--and no, he was absolutely not freaking out about it, no matter what his roommate said--and the industry wasn’t very receptive to the more aged actors. Not that John was aged. His gray hairs were unnoticeable, and he still looked like he was closer to thirty than forty. He was in-shape, he was handsome, and very willing to do his own stunts.

Of course, the twenty-something director spent his entire audition looking bored and eyeing the actress that would’ve been John’s co-star. Still, no one liked to hear, “Sorry, you’re a little older than what we’re looking for,” as a reason for not getting a part. He’d much rather hear, “Your resume doesn’t quite have what we want.” It still stung, but it didn’t feel nearly as personal.

John had chosen to work on stage more than screen, so most of his credentials included off-Broadway plays and bit commercials. His biggest part was the villain in a Power Rangers dub that, unfortunately, got cancelled after a week of filming due to the Pokemon craze. Shoving his hands in his pockets, John seriously considered quitting the actor thing. He was nearly forty, for God’s sake. His father was five years from retirement at his age. Maybe it was time to just settle for the drama teacher job Ronon had pointed out.

He was halfway across the lot when a weight slammed into him from behind and two arms wrapped around his neck. He instinctively reached back and found himself holding up two legs. Two very feminine legs. “Um,” he said as he regained his balance, trying to catch a glimpse at the woman clinging to his back. 

“Hey, handsome.” The woman had an accent. British, or maybe Australian. “How’d you like to be a star?”

Great. Another porn company vying for his attention. One film and he was marked for life. “I never see this coming.”

“Of course not, silly. I came up from behind you.” She nudged his arm and he dropped her legs. She hopped down and grabbed his arm with a vice-like grip. “Come on.” 

Unable to break free, John simply stumbled after her and into one of the KW studios. He tried silently pleading with the people they passed, but they either ignored him or gave him pitying looks. Obviously this was not unusual behavior for the woman. Finally they came to a kitchen set--modern looking, with sleek silver devices and marble-looking tiles--and she pulled him forward, presenting him to a crowd of people. 

“Here we go, one replacement brother.”

John tried not to project ‘get me away from this crazy woman’ too loudly, in case she was perceptive. What the hell was going on?

While most of the crowd eyed him, one man with brown hair, blue eyes, and glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vala, haven’t we had this talk before?”

“What?” She let John go and crossed her arms. “You said I had to find a replacement because I scared off Kavanagh. Well,” she slapped John on the back, “here’s my replacement. We could be twins!” 

John finally turned to look at his abductor and had to grudgingly admit that they did look eerily alike. “Scared off?”

Vala waved her hand. “I came after his hair with a knife.” At John’s mortified look, she shrugged her shoulders. “He kept it in a stupid ponytail that looked like he dipped it in french fry grease.”

Well, okay, John could understand that a little. “So, uh, brother?”

The man with the glasses rolled his eyes. “Supporting role as Vala’s brother which,” he pointedly looked at Vala, “you don’t have to play. Considering she dragged you here against your will.”

The rest of the crowd seemed annoyed at blue-eyes’ statement, but John looked them over, then the set, then at Vala. Well, a job was a job. And considering Vala’s recruiting tactics, he could quit easily enough. He thought about flipping a coin, but the rent was due soon, and Ronon was making noises about wanting to eat more than Ramen this month. John leaned against the nearest counter and shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.”

There was practically a heaving sigh from the rest of the crowd. Blue eyes gave Vala one last stern look before giving John a smile. “We’ll have to run it by our producers, of course. I’m Daniel, by the way. And you are?”

“John. John Sheppard.” 

“Alright, John. I’ll talk to the producers while you contact your agent?”

“No problem.” As soon as he found a phone. He’d given up having a cell phone months ago to pay for other things, like electricity. Now, if he were Elizabeth, where would he be at two in the afternoon…

~*()*~

Despite his best efforts, come Tuesday morning--at six no less--Lorne was pounding on Rodney’s door. Rodney, in typical fashion, ignored it, but a few minutes after the noise stopped, Lorne was stripping the sheets off the bed. “Damn you and your criminal record.”

“Never convicted, McKay.” Lorne grabbed one of Rodney’s ankles. “Now, I’ve explained your special condition and crankiness, but you still gotta show up on time.”

Rodney snorted and shook Lorne’s grip off as the man tried to drag him off the mattress, blearily glaring at the stocky agent. “Breaking and entering. Assault.” The man held out a double-venti sized espresso. Grumbling under his breath, Rodney snatched the cup and downed a good third of the liquid in seconds. Lorne was grinning again. “Still gonna blow up your car.”

“Sure. Now,” Lorne glanced at his watch, “you’ve got two hours, then I’m dragging you in, whether you’re in a suit or in suds.” 

Rodney carefully swung himself upright, not letting a drop of coffee spill on his sheets. “Oh yes, threaten the genius who’s making or breaking your reputation at this television show.”

“All bark, doc.” Lorne swatted the back of Rodney’s head lightly, making McKay splutter as his face turned red. “I’m grabbing us some lox and bagels. Be ready or else.” 

Rodney glowered at Lorne’s back, but since the man had brought him really, really good coffee and was fetching food, he’d overlook his faults. This time. Next time, well…maybe next time, too. It was really fabulous coffee. 

Two hours later in the middle of the storyboard meeting, he’d changed his mind. Yes, the coffee was fabulous, but that much coffee just went through him. The stupidity around him wasn’t helping the situation. They were talking about a show with family tensions and double crosses and evil twins and, frankly, it was all shit. Total shit.

“You signed me up to write for morons!” Lorne tried not to wince, but Rodney picked it up. “You can’t seriously,” he turned his attention to the rest of the room, “you’re trying to compete with _Unsightly Sam_ by mimicking the outline and merging it with _Days of Atlantis_?!” He shoved his chair away from the table. “Either get some brains by the time I come back, or I quit!” He stormed out of the room and made a beeline for the bathroom. Granted, it was the women’s room, but there was no one in there and a toilet was a toilet. 

It took less than a minute for Lorne to barge in as well. “Way to make friends, doc.”

“Do you mind?! I’m taking a leak here!”

“No I--wait, where are the urin--McKay! Do you want to get sued?!”

“Peeing!” Actually, he wasn’t. He didn’t like to pee when other people were around. “Now go back and talk them into listening to reason, or talk me out of the contract!”

Lorne pounded on the stall wall and sighed. A moment later, the door opened and closed, and Rodney got back to business. Honestly, what was Lorne thinking. If he wrote on a show like that his own skills would be diminished to pure drivel. Zipping up, he washed his hands and made his way back into the room, ignoring the odd look from the strawberry blond woman he passed along the way. 

The room was dead silent. Four unhappy faces zeroed in on him and their gazes followed him back to his seat. Lorne looked less unhappy--actually, he looked smug. He’d pulled something off, obviously. 

“They’ve decided that, since you think you can do better, to do so.” Lorne crossed his arms as he sat back in his seat. “Give them a show that can top _Unsightly Sam_ that isn’t, how did you put it? Moronic.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. He could think in circles around these people. Well, normally he could, but he was under a serious case of writer’s block, and--no, no. He could do this. He was good under pressure. “Alright, fine. Fine. You want,” he frowned, “you don’t want to tap into an impacted market. No military, no legal-police, nothing obvious.”

“Then what do you suggest?” This came from the producer, a Mister Landry. “You can’t just do a show about anything. There has to be market studies, analysis-”

“The audience will watch anything if it has a compelling storyline and dynamic characters. We’ll use something unpopular, something…” he snapped his fingers above his head, trying to grasp an idea; anything. This was basic, this was setting. “A bank--no, an investment bank. With a trading floor.”

“And you think that’ll work.” the disbelief in Landry’s voice was palpable.

“No, I’m just pulling this out of my--of course it’ll work! Did anyone seriously think a show about doctors and nurses would work? Of course not! Not until they saw the tension, the character romances, the, the-”

“Panache and dazzle,” Lorne suggested. 

“Yes, fine. The point…is we can make this work. We don’t even have to change the characters too much. For instance, we can have, have,” he glanced at the sheet of actors, “here, Sheppard. He doesn’t have to be a Major. He can be a…a…”

~*()*~

“Hotshot young investment banker with a genius for numbers and innuendo.” John paused a beat. “I thought I was going to be the quirky brother who saved the family farm or something.”

“According to this,” Steven Caldwell, perhaps the eldest cast member, waved the revised character sheet in the air, “you help save the firm with risqué deals with street smarts.”

“Huh.” That actually sounded cooler than some millionaire brother that came in as a simple plot device. “Am I still Vala’s brother?”

“Yup!” She sounded way too excited about that. “I’m an equities expert who loves to tease those she loves.” Vala gave Daniel a wide, tooth-filled grin. “Including the firm’s research department.”

Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. “Joy,” he deadpanned. “And we’re roommates.”

“Did someone warn them to remove the fire extinguishers?” This came from Cameron, who had a grin just like Vala’s. According to the sheet, he was going to be the head trader. “I’d hate to have to drive Jackson to the hospital again.”

“Look, I said I was sorry, and I certainly didn’t intend to hit him so hard.” Vala gave Daniel an innocent look. In response, the man crossed his legs and moved a little behind the giant African-American man. “Besides,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “we can’t use that again. The tabloids won’t fall for it twice.”

John made a mental note to find out the history between Daniel and Vala. The backstory on them must be pretty amusing, from the way everyone was trying to hide their grins. 

Someone nudged him in the side, and John turned to find Chuck beside him. “Looks like I’m your assistant. You the method type? Cause you look like you could use a drink, or maybe a sandwich.”

John shrugged one shoulder. “Not really my style, but if you’re thirsty, go ahead.”

“Don’t mind Chuck,” a dark-skinned woman said as the shorter man wandered off to the snack table. “I’m Teyla,” she stuck out her hand, and John shook it automatically. “I’ll be playing the new chairman, opposite Steven.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet before this.”

“It’s alright. I’m kind of meeting everyone today anyways.” After he’d called Elizabeth, she’d picked him up and they’d been locked in an office signing contracts for hours, then she took him home to rest up. Not that he did, since Ronon had challenged him to a game of Wii bowling. He had a high score to maintain, after all. “You been on a lot of these?”

“Some. I was in _Days of Atlantis_ for two seasons before I, well, died.” She smiled. John smiled back. It was a bit infectious. “I’ve had a few small recurring roles since. You?”

“Not really. I’ve mostly been in the independent theater gang. But I’ve co-stared in a few pilots that, um…” Actually, he’d kept pretty quiet about all those failed shows. He didn’t want to jinx this one.

“I understand.” She glanced over her shoulder as Daniel ducked one of Vala’s lunging hugs. “Excuse me, I must save Daniel from Miss Doran.” There was an unspoken ‘again’ in there. 

John settled back against his chair and looked over the character sheet again. There was a note at the bottom apologizing for the last-minute change, and to expect a script in the next week. “So why’d they change it?”

Caldwell, the nearest person and the only one seemingly uninterested in the Daniel-Vala situation, wrinkled his nose. “Got some new scriptwriter. Mc-something. Rodney Mc-something.”

Something about that sounded familiar. “Rodney McKay?”

Steven nodded. “That’s the guy. Good thing, too. The original idea wouldn’t have lasted a season.”

“So why’d you agree to do it?” The look Caldwell sent him was one John knew well. It was one all aging, almost-retired actors used. John had used it. “Yeah, me too.”

McKay. John remembered seeing a college film, something about breakfast, that he’d found hilarious. Yeah, that was the guy. Rodney McKay. Completed grad school at twenty-three and was expected to be one of the great film writers of the time. Except he hadn’t, and no one knew why.

Well, John had wanted to work with the man in college. It was almost twenty years late, but John was definitely willing to be in a McKay-written show. After all, if the producers had changed the entire show around for him, he must be good, and have remarkable persuasion skills. A genius with words, and with people. 

This was going to be fun.

~*()*~

And to think, Rodney had once considered film writing as a career, that all this work was fun. This, this was hell. Pure and utter hell. It wasn't so much the filming--after yelling at the cast and getting hit by Lorne three times he'd been banned from the set--as it was producing an hour-long script once a week. Alone. Oh, sure, Miko and Grodin were technically also scriptwriters, but Rodney always had to browbeat them into seeing sense. Like not creating a love-quadrangle to "spice it up" and to avoid such cliches as drug addiction, at least, for now. 

Still, the four hours he spent a day in a tiny office with his "peers" weren't nearly as hellish as this. "I'm sorry, do you have any concept of what is a good idea and what any two dollar hooker can come up with?" The man with the horrendous suggestion had dark hair that seemed to defy gravity, and eyes that weren't green or brown, but a combination. Rodney thought his name was Joe Sheep, or something. He didn't bother to learn the names of his actors, just their characters. 

Rather than be insulted, or even infuriated, the man--Nick was his screen name, and the only one Rodney cared to identify him as--leaned back against the wall and put his hands on his hips. "It was just a thought."

"You're paid to act, not think. Thinking's my job. And the director's, and though Radek's not a moron sometimes-"

"I'm just saying," Nick interrupted, earning him another glare from Rodney that, unfortunately, had no effect. "I get the whole sex addict thing, but can't you downplay it, or show that I'm more than that? I didn't exactly sign up to be the show's sex symbol."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Actually, Nick-"

"John."

"What?"

"My name's John. Nick's my character."

Rodney waved his hand. "Not important.” At the man’s stern glare, Rodney let out a huff. “Fine, John, the important thing is that yes, you were signed up as a sex symbol."

"Well, I think Nick should outgrow the whole sleeping around thing. Just because he's street smart doesn't mean he has to be a manwhore." 

Rodney scowled. "So instead you want him to take piloting lessons."

John brightened and pointed at Rodney. "Exactly!"

"You do realize sex is part of what we're selling."

"You every flown a plane? It's better than sex."

Rodney snorted. "Only chocolate is better than sex. And coffee. Actually, both together are better." Huh, it'd been a while since Lorne brought him either. He just hadn't had the time to throw a fit to make Lorne visit him personally lately. Well, he was going to have to change that. 

"So he can't fly, huh?" John scratched the back of his head. "So how about football? Maybe he plays football on the weekend."

There really was no answer to that stupidity. Seriously. The many venomous replies Rodney had to that just jammed in his brain, and he had to do a mental reboot before he could respond. "If I promise to write away Nick's whorish nature, will you stop pestering me with inane ideas?"

"Sure," John agreed easily enough. "Though I had a thought. About Caldwell's character."

"Then shouldn't he be here?"

"I just think he needs something external. A wife. Or a sister. Something to round him out."

Rodney gave John a leveling look. "If you'd read next week's script, you'd see he has a wife. And the week after we meet the nurse that takes care of her." A flush appeared on the tips of John's ears, and he had the decency to look sheepish. "You haven't even read next week's script?! You have over two-hundred lines to memorize in two days!"

"Only two-hundred? Last week was more."

"Yes, well last week we had a small war between the senior partners. This week the floor gets the spotlight."

"Cool." John looked around a bit, then his brow furrowed. "You know, it's a bit like a cave in here. You could get an office with a window."

"I don't want an office with a window." Mainly because they were on the eleventh floor of the studio's office building and that was way too far up for Rodney's comfort; at least, when he had a window to verify the height. "Don't you have lines to memorize?"

"Sure, McKay." John finally stood up and headed for the exit, pausing briefly at the bookcase beside the doorway. "Eulerian Complications?" He picked up the manuscript. "This a movie?"

Rodney practically vaulted across the desk and snatched the papers from John's hands. "Out!" John held up his hands placatingly and left. Rodney fumed after him, then stormed back to his desk and tucked the manuscript away in his bottom desk drawer. That was the last time he let Lorne visit him at the office. 

~*()*~

Nick was actually a character with a deep history and a line of ex's a mile long, some of which worked at Tagan & Cowen, and not all of them were of the opposite gender. John personally thought that was very forward, and very risque considering the audience. Still, being naked, or even half-naked, with his costars was a little unsettling, so he'd gone to McKay in the hopes that Nick could grow some new interests, some obscure hobby that led away from the implied sex and more to the quirky. And as promised, in the next few episodes John's scenes of sex with various partners declined, save for his scenes with Janet Fraiser. Janet played a firey competitor that had scooped Nick on deals and on potential nightly partners. She was witty and sharp and somehow Nick found himself in bed with her, though they remained heated rivals professionally.

It was a very complicated relationship, one that could have easily gone with them going at each other's throats, or one of them leading to heartbreak and ruin. Somehow Rodney kept it all balanced, and though John didn't get Nick to fly on the side, he did get to coach some little leaguers, one of which with Janet's character's daughter. Somehow, it wasn't going all to shit, though next week's script called for Carson--who played a bonds trader--and Vala to catch him and Janet and start wondering if maybe Nick was helping to bring down the bank.

Not that Nick's plot was the only major event going on, but John had opted not to watch the show, merely be a part of it. And maybe learn a thing or two in the process. So he watched the cameramen, took note of the symbols used in the director's book, and started visiting McKay. It took three visits before he realized food and/or coffee would quell McKay's ridicule and derision long enough to settle in. By the seventh episode, he had an unofficial lunch date with Rodney at least twice a week, more if he had less than three-hundred lines. Today Nick was off in Canada trying to outfox Terry (Janet's character) on a deal and had very little screen time, so John was able to sneak into the four-hour brainstorming meeting Rodney had with Miko and Peter.

After Peter and Miko had left, the former shaking his hand and the latter blushing and shyly asking for an autograph for her sister, John turned one of the square chairs around and sat across from Rodney, picking up the donut Peter had discarded and taking a bite. "So Chuck's leaving me for the trading floor? That sucks."

“He can’t stand in Nick’s shadow forever, and that’s what he likes doing. Besides, he doesn’t have the heartlessness to be a real banker.” Rodney somehow ate and spoke without spilling crumbs out of his mouth or breathing. John was a little awed by that. 

“So do I get a new assistant? Or am I going to be the Lone Ranger of the company?”

“One, the Lone Ranger had Tonto and two, no. Aiden Ford was hired to replace Chuck’s character‘s position, though I’m still hammering out the details for why he gets hired.”

John hadn’t met, or even heard of an Aiden Ford, but thus far all the actors and parts had been solid, so he wasn’t too worried. “Cool.” He glanced at his watch. “You know, it’s almost dinner time. Want to grab a bite?” Rodney opened his mouth to say yes, John could see it, but then he froze. Completely froze. John was actually a little worried the man had had some sort of weird stroke. “You okay buddy?”

“Yes, yes, I just—did you just ask me out?”

John blinked. “I asked if you wanted to get something to eat. You know, like you and me at lunch.” He leaned forward on his chair. “Something other than pre-wrapped sandwiches and overly greasy pizza slices.” Of course, thinking it over, it did almost sound like he was asking Rodney out. But he hadn’t meant it that way. Rodney was fun, and sarcastic, and could make security guards cry, but John just liked hanging out with him.

…well, okay, John had to admit to himself that, from that angle, maybe he was subconsciously asking Rodney out on a date. A sexless date. Just to go out and eat.

Right. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Rodney, beat him to that particular punch. His cheeks were flushed and he hurriedly gathered his notes. “Ah, of course. Well, nice as that is, I have a meeting with some pub—Lorne.” The color on his face burned brighter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he was out of the room like a shot.

John blinked a few more times at the empty room. “Okay,” he finally said, “maybe next time.” He got up and, knowing that Rodney would be taking the elevator, headed for the stairs. So maybe, just maybe, he had a small crush on Rodney. No big deal. He’d known McKay’s work in college and loved it. It was probably just knowing that same sense of humor and wit embodied that had John wanting to spend time with him. Yeah, that was it.

Rather than take the bus or hail a cab, John decided to walk home. It was a nice day and John just wanted to clear his head. He didn’t feel that way about Rodney. They were just friends, buddies, two guys hanging out. Besides, it would be unprofessional to date the scriptwriter of a television show he was working on. It might even be against company policy. 

Yeah, it was just best to leave things as they were. Keep things at work, keep it shallow. Oddly, he found the thought unsettling, eating away at his stomach. 

Or maybe that was just Ronon’s chile.

~*()*~

Rodney recorded every episode of _Unsightly Sam_ to make sure he wouldn’t be accused of copying plot elements or characters. That, and the lead was hot. Oh, he’d met her and knew she a) wasn’t interested and b) thought his work was only half as good as hers, but she was still hot. Unfortunately, even a humorous scene involving Sam, cold water, and an exploding cake couldn’t capture his attention.

He had writer‘s block. Again. 

“I don’t know why you bother watching this.” Lorne was steadily drinking away Rodney’s stockpile of Canadian beer, even though he claimed to loathe the stuff. “Sure, she’s hot, but half of the glamour is the shock value. So they have the son of a Captain who’s gay. This is LA. Half the kids I grew up with were like that.”

“You grew up in Nebraska.”

“And yet half the kids I grew up with were like that.” Lorne took another swig of beer. 

He actually had four bottles to go before he caught up with Rodney. Normally, Rodney would have happily mocked Lorne and his hick upbringing, but drinking always made him sullen, and less talkative. “I’m not going to be able to write again. I used it all up.”

Lorne easily shifted with the non-sequitur. “So you’re stuck on the sequel. Writers get stuck on novels all the time. Why don’t you work on your short stories? I liked that one about the whale.”

Rodney let his head fall back against the couch. “I know you’re not a complete idiot. If I have to explain writer’s block to you-“

“But you don’t have writer’s block.” Lorne bounced on the edge of the couch. “Look at _Taking Stock_. You’re the primary writer on a show that’s in the top three ratings for the KW.”

“But I’m an author!”

Lorne shrugged. “Maybe not. Have you tried writing other scripts? Ideas for other shows? I got a call from O’Neill. He wants to hear some pitches when you got the chance.”

Rodney turned his head to look at him. “O’Neill. Jack O’Neill, who got banned from the studio for…for…” Actually, he couldn’t remember at this very moment what had caused the banishment. Something to do with the mob, or an actor pretending to be in the mob. 

“And his cable channel is one of the most successful in the business. Right up there with Showtime and HBO.” Lorne leaned forward, swirling the remains of the beer in his bottle. “Put the books on hold. Try your hand at more screenwriting.”

Rodney let out a frustrated sigh. Lorne couldn’t understand. He was an agent. He didn’t get the compulsion, the need. Writing scripts just didn’t bring the same satisfaction as finishing a manuscript, of creating a world and characters that were a part of him and no one else.

On the other hand, he actually had money now. Maybe a little prominence in the television field would do him good. Not to mention make publishers think twice about rejecting something with his name on it. 

“Doc? If you fall asleep, I’m not moving you. It took my back a week to recover last time.”

“Hey! Just because I don’t worship at the gym doesn’t mean I’m fat. It’s all muscle. And I have it on good authority McKay’s have a high bone density.” How else could his father have handled a vase to the head so often? 

“Whatever you say.” Lorne rolled his eyes, then glanced back at the television. “You really should stop watching this.”

Rodney took on more look at Sam Carter and the underground military setting, then shut the television off. It wasn’t that good a show, and John Sheppard was a much better actor anyways.

~*()*~

John was a little worried that things might be awkward after the whole dinner thing, but no, they just went back to normal. Well, somewhat normal. Rodney was spending more time doing research, looking up rating statistics and theme trends for the last ten years. John had thought about asking, but he knew by now that when Rodney got caught up in something, it was best to just leave him alone until he was ready to talk about it.

Plus, it was nice to hang out with McKay, even when he was typing and muttering and ignoring John. John was able to study lines in peace and, when things were slow, read through the math journals Rodney had stacked up by his desk. He’d always had a knack for math, but other than helping his mom calculate ticket prices and the odds of how many people would show up what night, he hadn’t really looked too much into it. Acting was his family business, and as fascinating as numbers were, they couldn’t compete with his childhood ambitions.

One day he brought lunch only to find Rodney’s office empty. Well, mostly empty. Rodney’s assistant was looking through some files. What was his name? Lenny? Lenore? Lorne. That was it. “Hey, Lorne.”

“Shep,” he tossed John a two-fingered salute before going back to the files. “McKay’s at a meeting with the producers. They wanted a big cliffhangar for the mid-season hiatus, so he’s there brow-beating them into submission.”

John smirked. He’d only met Mister Landry and Mister Hammond once, and got the impression that, while pleased with the result, they weren’t too happy actually interacting with McKay. There were stories of the second meeting Rodney’d had with producers that involved a broken glass, yelling, and donut filling on the ceiling. “Well then, want to have lunch?”

“And risk the doc’s wrath for having stolen his food? No way. Ah!” Lorne pulled out a file about an inch thick. “If you want, though, work out his filing system. It’s a bitch.”

“And risk Rodney’s wrath for having touched his sacred papers?” He exchanged a grin with Lorne, who shut the file drawer and headed for the door. “Any chance he’ll be out by dinner?”

“Probably, but in no condition to be civil. Try tomorrow.” And with that he was around the corner and off to finish whatever errand McKay had sent him on.

John shrugged and moved to his usual seat. It wasn’t like Rodney would mind him using his office. As long as John didn’t spill anything, or leave crumbs everywhere, or download porn on his computer. Pulling out the pre-made turkey sandwich, he glanced by the desk to see what issue magazine he’d be reading today when he found not a periodical, but a manuscript on top of the pile. It was Eulerian Complications, the one Rodney had so violently yanked out of his hands that first day they’d met.

He really shouldn’t. Rodney hadn’t wanted him to read it. On the other hand, if it was a movie, maybe there was a part for John, and if he had a head start he could mentally prep himself. Besides, if Rodney really didn’t want anyone to read it, he shouldn’t have left it out. Or maybe it was an invitation, since Rodney knew he read from that pile journals at least once a week.

Keeping an ear out for approaching footsteps, John flipped the manuscript open and started reading. And reading. And two hours after he’d finished lunch he was still reading. He’d have continued, but his studio-beeper went off, meaning he was due back on the set. Debating only a minute, John tucked the manuscript under his arm and made a small detour to his private locker. 

Hopefully Rodney wouldn’t mind him taking it overnight to finish. He’d set it out for John, after all.

~*()*~

Though he’d given up watching _Unsightly Sam_ , Rodney still read the episode transcripts to keep his authenticity. Their cliffhanger included a cross-dresser, a car accident, and a murder victim not-so-murdered. Rodney wasn’t sure if he should laugh at the writing, or at the fact he’d ever worried about mimicking their style. Taking Stock went a different route, leaving the future of the bank in question, a marriage proposal between two floor members, and Nick having to decide his future.

After promising to behave and with Lorne watching him like a hawk, he was allowed back on set for the last day of filming which mainly included the scenes with John and Janet. Rodney was able to keep quiet, but he still had to snort at some of the dialogue. He wrote the majority, but as similar as their styles were, he could easily tell when Miko had decided to go that extra romantic mile.

Oddly enough, it was John who ruined the scene. “This doesn’t feel right.” At the groans and odd looks, he crossed his arms. “I told you in rehearsal that I don’t think Nick would act this way.”

“This is the last scene, John,” Radek Zelenka, the director, said from his chair, “and we are all tired and wish to go home.”

“And it isn’t right. There’s something—Rodney!” John seemed to perk up at spotting him. “Rodney, just…can you do something with my lines? They aren’t right.”

Rodney rolled his eyes, but took the script binder and looked through the lines in question. Yes, yes, it was all very well written, but John was right, it wasn’t true to his character. Or rather, not true enough. A crossed out serious line here, a sarcastic comment there, and the final lines he drew right out of his first novel. He felt a little guilty, but since no one but Lorne would know their origins, he figured it was okay doing a bit of cannibalizing. He’d been wanting to reword that scene from chapter nine anyways.

John read his new lines, nodding. His eyebrows went up at one point, surprised, or maybe impressed, but he was obviously satisfied. “Thanks, McKay.” 

“Yes, we are all grateful that you could help. Now stop squeaking in your chair.” Radek pointed to the microphone. 

Rodney scowled, squeaked once more, but was desperate for a caffeine fix, so he stole outside while John performed the scene once more. Lorne, like a good watchdog, followed him until they were outside the set. “Just because he got his degree in Europe he thinks he’s so-“

“You were squeaking, doc.” Lorne paid for his extra large coffee, obviously trying to appease Rodney‘s injured ego. “You given any thought to what I said? This week off would be perfect to work on something for O’Neill. He’s been bugging me.”

“Bugging you?”

Lorne actually looked a bit sheepish. Or maybe frightened. Damnit, there was a time he could instill fear like that into Lorne. But that had vanished a long time ago. “He just thinks you’re a good thing. As long as he doesn’t actually have to meet with you.”

At least his reputation was still in good standing. “Humph.” He had planned on getting a head start on finishing the end of the season, but maybe writing some new pilots and plot outlines would flex his creative muscles more. He’d already allotted time for Hamiltonian Conundrums, but maybe that was better spent on other things. Including that whale story Lorne liked. He was almost finished with that one.

Something must’ve shown on his face, because Lorne grinned. “Great. Lemme know when you have something.” He slapped Rodney on the shoulder. “I’ve got a meeting with a client who likes me early, so I’ll catch you next week.”

Rodney half-frowned. “Publisher?”

“Parents.” Lorne was grinning, but his entire right cheek ticced in a way Rodney had never seen before. 

Rodney mentally wished him good luck, since he was too busy savoring his coffee to say it out loud. There were certainly some advantages to having dead parents. Well, disowned, which was as good as dead. Taking a seat in one of the plastic patio chairs available, he narrowed his eyes and mulled over some ideas he could put forward to O’Neill. Without the usual cable regulations, he could explore some darker and experimental themes. 

More time must have passed then he realized because as he was finishing his coffee, he heard, “Hey, Rodney!” Peeking around his cup, he could see John heading towards him. 

“Finally pleased the almighty Radek?”

John rolled his eyes and nabbed the remaining chair, hanging a leg over the armrest. “There’s no pleasing him. But he said it was satisfactory.” He eyed Rodney, absently smoothing down the too tight black tee-shirt he was wearing. “Of course, with lines like that, how could he be anything but?”

Rodney sniffed, tossing the empty cup into the trash. “Well, that is what they pay me for.”

“And they work here.” He smirked. “It worked a lot better than in chapter nine. It felt a little stilted there.” He bounced on his feet. “So when do I get to see the rewrite?”

Rodney, however, had tensed at John’s comment, eyes narrowing. “Chapter nine?”

“Yeah, in Eulerian Complications. I didn’t know you were an author, too.” He wasn’t bouncing anymore. 

“I thought I told you not to read that!” He couldn’t believe John would do such a thing. Despite the man’s tendency to push Rodney’s personal boundaries, John’d always respected his professional limits.

The smile fell off John‘s face “You left it on my reading pile,” he said, a little hesitantly, a little irritated.

“No, I left locked in my file drawer with-” Rodney froze as he realized another person had been in his desk recently. And that person was not adverse to using people like Sheppard to field test reactions. “Lorne,” he growled. Blowing up his car wasn’t nearly enough. He was going to make the man grovel--grovel!--for setting this up.

John still looked wary, but stepped forward. “Look, I didn’t know you didn’t want me to-”

“Yes, you did,” Rodney snapped. “I told you that very first day!”

John crossed his arms. “I’m not some stranger, McKay.”

“No, you’re my friend and I assumed that you’d respect my wishes!” Rodney glared at John for another minute, then snapped his fingers at him. “Come on.”

John blinked. “Come on?”

“I’m hungry, and since you betrayed me you can pay for dinner. Also, I might as well hear what you thought.” Rodney turned and headed for the parking lot. His car was old and banged up and sometimes smelled like smoking metal, but it worked. Also, if he hurried he might find Lorne’s car in town, and if he crashed into it, he was pretty sure his steel frame would crumple Lorne’s little Prius.

John followed after a minute. “So you’re over being angry?” His tone was slightly confused, amused. 

Rodney wondered when he learned to read John so well. “Of course I’m still angry. I’m pissed at you. But I’m hungry. Also, I need someone to bounce ideas off of and you’re not entirely stupid. Except for not reading things people have expressly asked you not to.” He heard John huff out a breath, and then let out a strangled noise as Rodney pulled out his keys. He unlocked the doors, turned around, and scowled at the actor. “What?”

John tentatively touched the passenger side door. “You don’t have a tetanus shot in the glove compartment, do you?”

“Just get in you idiot.”

~*()*~

Over the weekend, John was invited out by Rodney four times, spent almost ten hours discussing plot and characterization and show ideas, and got turned on by Rodney’s eating habits once. Apparently the anger blinded Rodney to the whole ‘we shouldn’t date’ argument weeks ago. John wasn’t about to bring up that topic, though, not when he having too much fun.

On Sunday night, he came home at one to find Ronon on the couch playing Wii Tennis. He raised on eyebrow, John shrugged, picked up the other controller, and sat next to him. They made a killer doubles team, but Ronon didn’t quit the current game. “You finally get to first base?”

John elbowed Ronon in the side. It hurt him more than the Hawaiian. The guy had steel muscles. “I’m respecting his boundaries and timetable.”

“Still doesn’t know you’re dating him, huh?” Ronon smirked and volleyed the ball right past the computer opponent, winning the match. “You could just try kissing him.”

“I‘m not the most impulsive guy.” Ronon gave him a disbelieving look. Right, the guy had known him since high school. John rubbed his sore elbow. “Maybe I don’t want to pay two alimonies.”

Ronon grunted at that. “Jennifer got married.”

“Didn’t you sleep with her last week?” Jennifer Keller had been Ronon’s second wife, and was apparently a friendly divorce, since they still went on dates and spent loud nights in the bedroom at least twice a month.

“Bachelorette party. Last chance.”

John sighed and slumped back against the couch. “McKay’s worried about the appearance of impropriety. If he knew these were dates he’d stop calling me.” And he really didn’t want to lose their time together. “What’re you gonna do without Jen around?”

“She’ll be around.” Ronon finally quit the game and switched the TV over to cable, flipping around for something. “We made plans to go to the beach the day after she gets back from the honeymoon.”

Yeah, John wouldn’t bet on that marriage lasting. “Well, just remember she’s taken now.”

Ronon’s grinned sharply. “Forbidden fruits.”

John pointed at him. “You have problems.”

“At least I’m not in a one-sided relationship.”

“I’m not bailing you out when you get arrested for fighting Jen’s new husband.”

Ronon continued to smirk, finally settling on some Asian cooking show. John crossed his arms and pouted at the screen, wondering how Rodney could be so oblivious to what was going on between them.

~*()*~

Rodney really didn’t realize how evil his subconscious was. His policy was to not watch _Taking Stock_ himself, but first Lorne--who only limped for a month, and he deserved it, so the man really needed to stop looking so wounded--then John bugged him to watch the latter half of the season. Janet left the series, and so Rodney had written in a derivatives trader, an obscure genius who ended up sharing an apartment with the heartsick Nick.

He’d known, intellectually, what he’d written. On the rebound, Nick slept with Avery and though not overly sexual, Avery offered emotional support and domestic stability for Nick. John and Janet had been about beauty and passion and rivaling equals, but Avery and John was an actual relationship. And though Rodney had been reluctant at the idea because Miko really was overly romantic, the ratings and reactions were beyond positive.

What he hadn’t known was that some of his own personality quirks had bled through to the character. That the banter between the two was eerily similar to some of his discussions with John. That the actor hired, Pete Shanahan, had bright blue eyes and a bit of a stocky build and blondish hair. What he really hadn’t known, was that the relationship forming between Nick and Avery was a reflection of his own feelings towards John.

“Oh my god.” He’d said that at least fifteen times, in between taking deep breaths to fight hyperventilation and staring at post-production’s menu screen for the last five episodes. What the hell had he been thinking? No, no, he hadn’t been thinking. He couldn’t have. And Jesus, no wonder Miko had been giggling around the office, sneaking glances at Grodin, who’d started mentioning his florist boyfriend around Rodney as if he cared about the man’s personal life.

And Lorne, Lorne hadn’t even told him. But Lorne had finally been pulling his weight, pushing some of his finished short stories and taking a number of meetings with O’Neill. Rodney had completed three potential pilots and outlines over the break, between hanging out with Sheppard-

Hanging out. Having dinner. Mocking movies and bad science fiction and playing Name That Batman Villain. With Sheppard. “Oh my god,” he squeaked, actually squeaked, and he was very, very glad to be alone in his office. They’d been dating. He’d been asking Sheppard out on dates for over a week and had a standing lunch date and…and…

“Hey, Rodney?” John stuck his head in. “You ready for lunch?”

Rodney pointed an accusing finger at him. “We’ve been dating!”

John’s face twisted, something between a grimace and gleeful grin, and stepped into the office and closed the door. “Yeah.”

Rodney waved his hand back and forth, still accusing. “I said we shouldn’t! I remember having a very serious conversation with you about dinner.”

John slouched against the shut door. “Dinner didn’t turn out that bad.” 

The way he was jutting his hips out was just unfair. Rodney was trying to be righteous and outraged and he couldn’t really do that if his eyes were following the curve of John’s body. He could feel his face turn red as he jerked his gaze back up to Sheppard’s face, but not fast enough, from the smug smirk on John’s face. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything, McKay.” His shoulders drooped further. “But you have to admit our time together hasn’t compromised our working relationship.”

Which, okay, yes. The first thing he’d done was break Nick’s heart, and the rebound with Avery evolved on its own, spurned on by Miko. And he hadn’t written a disproportional amount of screen time for Nick, or given him all the good storylines. Still, it was the principle of the thing. “It’s the principle.”

“C’mon, McKay. Do you really want to stop hanging out?” The look John gave him was far too knowing. “We can keep things cool as long as you’re writing for me.” He waited a beat. “Or we could make out.” The leer he threw was more dorky than sexy.

Unfortunately, as ridiculous as it looked, Rodney found it a bit irresistible. “What? Wait, what? How is that keeping it cool? Making out is never cool!” And John must’ve wanted to prove him wrong, since a minute later he was across the room and on Rodney’s lap, one hand behind his neck, the other on desk to balance, and their lips locked together. And then an extra tongue found its way into his mouth, and then he may have blacked out for a bit because God, having John in his lap kissing him was the best idea ever.

~*()*~

The seventeenth time they have sex--not that John’s keeping count, but Ronon has this little tally sheet and he’s only now starting to catch up--John had just read the end-season script. Vala decks Daniel, Teyla betrays Caldwell, Chuck makes a move to boot Cameron out of Head Trader, and, oh yes, Nick’s future is in question as he debates a European job offer. John’s not really sweating that so much as the fact that Rodney’s considering leaving the show. 

At the moment, he kind of hates Lorne, and O’Neill. But mainly Lorne, since he used Weir’s sway with the network president to win over O’Neill. There really should be a rule about agents sleeping together. Except then there’d probably be some rule about scriptwriters and actors and, yeah, he’s not giving this up anytime soon. 

Still, O’Neill’s offer means moving to Vancouver, and while he could certainly follow, it took him forever to land a regular role and, well, he’s still not sure if he wants to leave _Taking Stock_. He’s also pretty sure he doesn’t want to leave Rodney. It’s a conundrum, but he’s good at burying things. Emotional things. And Rodney’s the most oblivious guy he’s ever met.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A sharp poke to his ribs. “You’re almost never that quiet during orgasm.” 

Maybe not so oblivious after all. “What?”

“And you let me have the last three egg rolls at dinner. I usually have to fight you for every one of those. And you hate sweet and sour sauce.” 

Well, that explained his stomach not being too excited with him right now. “Nothing’s wrong, Rodney.” He smirked, shifting his leg so it was tangled between McKay’s. “Just enjoying you.”

“Uh huh.” An arm pulled him closer, tucking itself between his back and the mattress. “Just because that tuft of hair makes you look like you don’t have a thought in your head doesn’t mean I’ll be fooled. So spill.” 

John shrugged, well, tried to. “Just, you know, excited you’re getting published.” Elizabeth’s connection again. Lorne must be doing something really wicked in bed to get all her good contacts. 

“No you’re not. You said ‘cool,’ then blew me. That’s excited for you.” Huh. Apparently not so oblivious now that they were actually dating. “So speak, or no morning sex.” John snorted at that. “Fine, no reciprocating morning sex.”

“No reciprocation, what makes you think you’ll get any?”

“Because you owe me.” Rodney had that smug tone of his, the one that meant he knew he was right. “Also, you never skip morning sex because you’re trying to keep up with that behemoth you live with.”

Damn, so he had confessed to the tally sheet during that drunken night at Cameron’s party. And of course Rodney remembered everything, no matter how inebriated. “Fine, but you can never keep your hands off me in the shower.” It’d made him late for more than one filming session. 

“I’ll just use the guest bathroom.”

“You don’t have a guest bathroom.” Despite the new money coming in, all Rodney had sprung for was maid service, though there was once talk of getting a bigger place, but he’d been pretty tired and slept through most of Rodney’s oral contemplations. 

“You always have to be right, don’t you.” Another rib poked. “I can bring you back, you know. It’s just an offer, you haven’t accepted it yet.”

He hadn’t--ah, Nick. Of course. “I don’t know if I should or not.”

“Why not?”

“It’s kind of hard to film in Vancouver.” Silence met that answer, and John stared hard at Rodney’s wall. The paint was cracked and split, obviously kicked or hit with something heavy at some point. Most likely an alarm clock, or Lorne’s head. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“You think I can’t do long-distance relationships? So I don’t get to write for _Taking Stock_ all the time, fine. That doesn’t mean I can’t write the odd episode, or fly down here over the weekends while I’m working for O’Neill. I can say I’m consulting, get the studios to pay for it!”

Which, okay, kind of made sense. He’d just never really seen any long-distance relationships work before. Or, any long-distance relationships, technically. He’d always just sort of broken up when the other person moved away. And he since he didn’t want this dating thing with Rodney to end, he’d figured he’d have to move too. “So you don’t want me to-”

“Of course I do! In Canada we could get benefits and have sex every night without that Nun-substitute banging on the wall yelling we’re going to hell for being sodomites!” Rodney tucked his chin over John’s shoulder. “But I’m, you know, willing to try. Cause what we have is sort of, you know…goodish.”

John could feel the heat from Rodney’s cheeks as they flushed at the admission. He felt himself grin involuntarily. “It is pretty neat.”

“Neat. Yes. That’s exactly how I’d define what we are.” 

John grinned more and snuggled back against Rodney. “Relax, McKay. You’re right. This is good.” Really good. “So, you think I could work on your show eventually?” Nick would eventually leave the firm, that much was certain. He just wasn’t the type of character to stick around indefinitely.

“I’m not your pimp,” Rodney grumbled, but there was a lopsided smile in the tone. “I suppose there’s room for a closeted Major. Your hair would be a dead giveaway.”

“Going military, huh?” 

“Sort of.” He shut his eyes as Rodney kissed his neck. “How would you feel traveling through an imaginary wormhole to alien worlds?”

He reached back to rub a hand over Rodney’s thigh. “With you writing it? Right at home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Anotheratlantis Prompt: 45 - Rodney McKay is an unappreciated scriptwriting genius (genius!), who has been forced to take a job working for the latest WB sitcom as for some reason nobody's interested in his literary novels (two, to date, both character-driven explorations of higher mathematical concepts and their intersections with human lives, and obviously the publishing houses are just not equipped to cope with his brilliance--and that's not even counting the screenplays!). He busies himself browbeating the staff writers and trying not to breathe too many marker fumes (because even if it's a lowbrow art form, there is still room for character, people! God! Have you not *read* Joseph Campbell, because if this script has even a passing acquaintance with character development and heroism... etc etc.)
> 
> John Sheppard's agent said he was too old for the role (hey!), but he landed it anyway. Now he's the star of the WB's hottest new drama, and it looks like his career might finally be on the right track, after that messy derailment some years back (he doesn't talk about it). He figures he's at home in the closet; after all, his paycheck depends on playing the heartthrob for teen girls across the nation every Wednesday night. But the closet starts feeling a whole lot smaller once he gets to know the writer who's been giving him the best lines he's ever seen...


End file.
